The world came back to her in fire.
Heat roared against her cheeks, smoke clawed at her throat, and the air smelled of scorched incense and wet ash. When she tried to move, something heavy anchored her hand, dragging against the stone floor. She blinked through the haze—and froze.
A sword.
It lay across her palm like it had been waiting, black metal veined with crimson light that pulsed faintly, as though the weapon itself had a heartbeat.
Then it spoke.
"You're not her."
The voice rang inside her skull, low, sardonic, edged like a blade drawn across bone.
"Who the hell are you?"
She yelped, nearly dropping it. The sword gave a dark, thrumming laugh.
Oh no. Oh hell no.
Smoke stung her eyes, but clarity crashed into her mind with brutal precision. She knew this scene. She knew this temple. She even knew this cursed blade, though in the novel it was described as a "pitch-black artifact forged from the marrow of a fallen demon general."
Her gut twisted.
"I reincarnated… into this story?" she croaked, coughing into the smoke.
Not just any story. The trashy xianxia novel she'd binge-read during a college exam season, the one where the villain slaughtered entire sects with the help of his cursed sword—and somewhere around Chapter Thirty, the foolish junior sister who married him became a human sacrifice to fuel his cultivation breakthrough.
That junior sister's name? Su Danyan. Naïve, obedient, doomed.
Which meant—she pressed her free hand to her chest, half hoping she was wrong. No such luck. A set of delicate red bridal silks clung to her body, already singed at the hem. The marriage temple around her cracked and groaned, fire eating through the painted rafters.
Perfect. Just perfect.
The sword growled again, impatient. "Answer me, mortal. Who are you, if not the worm they handed to me as a bride?"
Her laugh came out strangled. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."
"Try me."
She tightened her grip on the hilt, which seemed to pulse hotter in her hand. The blade's presence filled her skull—arrogant, suspicious, heavy as a storm. "Fine. My name is… none of your business. But I can tell you this much—I'm not the idiot girl you were supposed to devour."
"Bold," the sword said dryly. "But lies."
A crash sounded from outside. Voices, low and chanting, wove through the smoke. She recognized the cadence: the villain's underlings, performing the ritual that would seal her death and the sword's awakening.
Her stomach knotted.
If she stayed here, she was done for. If she ran, she'd still be done for. This was the kind of cosmic joke no reincarnator deserved.
"I refuse," she muttered under her breath, pushing herself to her feet.
The sword purred with dark amusement. "Refuse what?"
"To die in Chapter Thirty."
That earned her silence. A strange, sharp silence, as if the sword was reassessing her entirely. Then it chuckled—low, wicked, a sound like a blade dragged across the edge of a coffin.
"Interesting. Then prove you are worth my edge."
The Fire Bride
Her legs trembled as she staggered toward the doors. The temple's painted beams creaked overhead; flakes of gold leaf curled in the smoke like burning butterflies. She shoved at the heavy wooden panel, but it didn't budge. Outside, shadowy figures moved in the firelight.
She swallowed hard. "Okay. Plan B."
"Which is?" the sword asked, amused.
She licked her lips, bracing the weapon in both hands. "Swing wildly and hope you're as sharp as you look."
The blade thrummed, almost affronted. "I am sharper than your pitiful tongue. Cut."
With no other choice, she swung. The cursed sword cleaved through the door as though it were rice paper, sending embers scattering into the night air. She stumbled forward into chaos—flames, chanting disciples, and the wide, night-black sky overhead.
Dozens of red-robed figures turned toward her in unison, faces hidden by bronze masks. The chant faltered.
"She's still alive?" one hissed.
"She must burn!" cried another.
Lovely. Her first day in this world, and she already had a death sentence.
The sword vibrated in her grip. "Slaughter them."
Her eyes bulged. "Excuse me?"
"You hold me, mortal. Use me. I thirst."
"Thirst later! We're outnumbered!"
A volley of talismans lit the air, streaking toward her like burning arrows. On instinct, she raised the sword. To her shock, the blade drank the glowing symbols straight into its surface, snuffing them like sparks in water.
The sword gave a pleased hum. "Acceptable. Perhaps you are not entirely worthless."
Her heart hammered. Maybe she could survive this after all.
A Narrow Escape
They ran—or rather, she ran, while the sword scolded her with every step.
"Your footing is sloppy. Your breathing is worse. Do you have no training whatsoever?"
"I was an office worker!" she snapped, ducking past a fallen beam.
"An… office worker? Is that a sect?"
She nearly laughed at the absurdity, lungs burning as she stumbled into the forest beyond the temple. "Yeah. The most terrifying one. Endless paperwork, no qi."
"Your humor is insufferable," the sword grumbled, though there was an edge of reluctant intrigue beneath the disdain.
The forest swallowed them, shadows closing around her. Behind, the temple collapsed in a roar of fire. She pressed her back to a tree, clutching the sword to her chest, shaking with adrenaline.
Alive. Against all odds, she was alive.
But her survival bought her nothing. She was still Su Danyan, doomed bride of the villain. And the villain would notice soon enough that his ritual had failed.
She slid down against the trunk, sweat cooling on her skin. "Okay," she whispered. "New plan. Survive until I figure out how to rewrite this fate."
The sword's voice coiled through her mind again, sly now. "Rewrite fate? You presume much, mortal. Fate is carved in bone and blood."
She smirked, exhausted. "Then maybe I'll carve back."
A Name for the Nameless
Silence stretched between them, filled only by the chirp of night insects and the faint hum of the blade.
Finally, she asked, "Do you at least have a name?"
"Names are for masters," the sword said curtly. "You are no master. You are merely a host."
Her lips curled. "Fine. Host it is, then. Nice to meet you. I'll be your parasite."
The sword hissed, affronted. "Impudent girl."
She chuckled, closing her eyes despite herself. Sleep tugged at her, heavy and inevitable. Somewhere deep in her chest, the cursed sword's heartbeat pulsed with hers, binding them tighter with every breath.
Neither of them wanted this bond. Neither of them trusted it.
But for tonight, it was enough.